Laugh at Locksmiths
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Gift fic for Inkandpencil. 'five times Aster comforted Jack after a nightmare, and one time Jack comforted Aster' Hurt/comfort, Jackrabbit.


Gift fic for InkandPencil; who requested a fic based on an in-progress RP I was lucky enough to get a sneak peek at! This is 'five times Aster comforted Jack after a nightmare, and one time Jack comforted Aster'

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"Thus fortified I might take my rest in peace. But dreams come through stone walls, light up dark rooms, or darken light ones, and their persons make their exits and their entrances as they please, and laugh at locksmiths."  
― Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

The first time Jack has a nightmare on Aster's watch, he's pretty much expecting it. The boy is still reeling from the loss of his home and his family at the hands of the Fearlings; it comes as no surprise that the trauma is working its way out in his subconscious mind. He does his best to sooth the boy with softly murmured reassurances; even going so far as to hold the young man when he wakes and reaches for him. Aster is unused to prolonged physical contact in such a fashion, more so for lack of a willing partner then lack of desire for it, but the awkwardness fades in moments with Jack's small, cool body wrapped tight in his arms. Aster accepted the responsibility for this boy the moment the Moon had beckoned him to his birthplace; he would not fail him now, not when the only cost required was a hug.

The second time was much the same; it had been the very next night, in fact. Jack was still recovering and requiring of rest, but the nightmares seemed to be waiting ever so patiently in the wings for the moment the boy fell asleep. Jack had twitched once, twice, three times in his sleep, waking Aster just in time for the startled cry that had the Pooka scrambling from the other side of the nest where he had bedded down. Since they had both gone to sleep at the same time, Aster had tried to respect Jack's need for space by leaving a few feet empty between them, but it seemed it was all for naught. Aster didn't hesitate before sweeping the other up into his embrace patting his back and whispering soothingly until the boy finally settled, this time without waking. Aster debated letting to boy go and returning to his original position, but the moment he loosened his grip Jack clung tighter, so with a soft chuckle made himself comfortable for a night spent once again beside Jack.

The third time, Aster himself is do deep in sleep that the fist to the face is a wake-up call more for the shock of it than the pain. In fact, he doesn't notice the pain at all at first; too busy trying to calm Jack's frantically flailing limbs. This is the worst nightmare yet; in fact, Aster is willing to bet a more direct intervention by Pitch Black is involved than just Jack's residual grief and unhappy memories. The boy's eyes were wide and blank, staring into the middle distance with an expression of pure terror etched onto his features. Sure enough, Aster can see the trace of Fearling influence on the boy, and knows that this night terror was conjured specifically for Jack. How the Nightmare King knew that a single Atlantean had survived, Aster did not know, but the thought made his blood run cold. He'd been hoping they'd have been able to hide Jack's existence for a bit longer, until the boy had better control of his power, in an effort to keep him safe. That option was gone now, which meant that come morning they would have to work even harder to prepare the boy for the inevitable second confrontation with the Fearlings. As long as Pitch Black existed, those who stood against him or in his way would never be free from the conflict, and while Aster wished he could spare Jack, he knew better. Jack finally calmed, the Fearlings losing its grip at last, and he blinked himself awake slowly, eyes finally focussing properly on Aster's face. He raises his hand to Aster's eye, and that's when the Pooka realized that the eye in question was probably swelling and blackening from the initial hit. Jack's face falls, the guilt obvious, and Aster reassures him gently as the boy summons a snowball into his fingers, pressing it carefully to Aster's swollen flesh in the hopes of helping. Aster accepts the cold touch, and they lie together awake, until it is time to greet the day anew.

The fourth time, Aster arrives too late. Jack must have dozed off somewhere and had a nightmare while Aster was otherwise occupied. They boy had thrown himself into his lessons after the last big nightmare; working himself practically to the bone. Aster knew that Jack had also been reluctant to sleep again, fearful of hurting the Pooka with another outburst, although Aster certainly hadn't minded, considering Pitch was to blame in the first place. Jack was a stubborn boy though, and had so far managed to avoid the nest and Aster for the last week. Aster had been watching the boys energy levels flag daily though, and knew he was headed for a crash. Cursing himself for a fool, Aster wished he'd been keeping a better eye, or paying better attention. The boy was sitting at the kitchen table, back ramrod straight and hands clenched in his lap. Aster recognized the haunted look in his eyes at once, and sighing to himself set about making a pot of his favorite tea. It was his own original blend, and good for relaxation. He offered Jack a cup without a word, joining him across the small table. The boy took the cup, clasping it so tight his knuckles turned white. They sat without speaking, silence broken only by the sounds of sipping. When the cup was empty, Aster coaxed Jack to his feet, herding him purposefully toward the nest for a proper night's sleep. He expected Jack to fight, to argue as he had been, but the young man slumped instead, defeated. It unnerved Aster a bit to see him so, and hoped that better rest and a good long chat come morning would help bolster the young man's spirits. Pitch was a tricky opponent, it would do Jack no good to be beaten here and now by the terrors that crept in the night. Aster was prepared to leave Jack room, as usual, but the boy curled right up into his side as soon as he'd lain down. Although he is not tired, he holds the boy, stroking his hair softly until he feels him slip into slumber. With the comforting weight of another body against his, Aster figured he could be forgiven for deciding that a nap is a good idea.

The fifth nightmare, Aster wasn't awoken by the usual flailing or shrieking, but instead by the quiet, insistent sobbing. Jack was burrowed so close to Aster's side in the dark that the other wondered at how they hadn't somehow merged into one being yet. Since Jack had finally caved on the issue of sharing the nest again, the tow of them had seldom parted farther than arms-reach form the other, and if they had it was for an insignificant amount of time. Jack had been growing stronger in the interim time, his nightmares fading in intensity and diminishing in frequency as time passed and the wounds hadn't begun, ever so slowly to heal. Nothing would ever be the same, and the boy would likely always suffer from nightmares of some kind, but Aster was happy to observe that the boy was able to sleep more regularly and deeply than before. Even when they did come, no longer were they as dramatic as the first ones had been, and often now Aster didn't even awaken. Jack would simply snuggle closer to him and return to sleep, and the nightmare could be discussed in the morning, if in fact the boy even remembered what fears had woke him in the night. Tonight though, must have been a bad one, or perhaps something new, for the boy hadn't cried in his sleep in months. Aster responded instinctively, holding his friend close and rubbing his back in small circles, offering him small platitudes in a soft voice. Jack calmed carefully, sniffling into Aster's fur, tiny hands clenched so hard in the ruff at Aster's chest that he worried a too-fast movement would result in lost fur. Jack fell asleep slowly, but without any further incident after that. Not without having admitted to Aster's chest that he'd dreamed of the Pooka's death. This was a new fear then, and despite his concern for his friend, Aster was also touched at the depth of regard the other must have held, to have feared so deeply for Aster's safety. When he slips back into sleep too, he dreams of Jack; bright, happy as he deserved to be and without the shadows of fear hanging above him, walking endlessly at Aster's side.

Aster jerks out of sleep with a harsh cry, still kicking out at imagined enemies. Behind his eyelids, his home had been burning, his people dying, the same way they had when the Fearlings had actually come for them. Aster was no stranger to this pain, or this nightmare; he'd had it several times a century still, even so long after the actual event. To this day, he still hadn't yet heard from any other survivors; assuming there even had been others beside himself. Most days he was optimistic that it was only a matter of time, other days he had dreams like this one. Some wounds ran so deep the pain never fully healed, always waiting for a person to trip over it one more time in the dark. Aster became aware then of the clever hands rubbing at his ears in the way he found most soothing, of a rich voice whispering to him in the night, of a cool body pressed to the length of his own. Jack was doing for him now, what he had done for Jack since the boy had arrived, mourning the loss of his own home, his own family. Jack crooned words of safety and affection, and Aster could feel the horror and sadness fade. How could he hold on to it, when his friend, no, his Mate was here with him, loving him in his quiet, steadfast way? Aster grinned into Jack's hair, and then bushed a kiss to his brow. They have much to accomplish in the morning, and should return to sleep now. But if Aster stays awake a few moments longer, basking in the joy of this embrace, well, there is no one here but Jack to know.


End file.
